The GuideDog Series
by DareU2Bme
Summary: How different would things have gone if Stiles were blinded in the car crash that had taken his mother?
1. Chapter 1

**Story #1**

* * *

**Title: ** Lost in the Woods

**Rating:** G

**Characters:** Stiles, Derek, Sheriff Stilinski

* * *

Stiles tripped and stumbled over a raised root, throwing out his arms to try to find purchase. His left hand met the rough bark of what must have been a pine tree. He leaned his weight against it, regaining his balance, before gingerly stepping toward it. The ground was uneven and unfamiliar. Stiles braced his arms on the tree and leaned his forehead against them.

He could feel tears pricking at his eyes and a lump building in the back of this throat. He refused to let that progress though. He was seventeen, damnit! He wasn't going to cry! Even if he was all alone in the woods, his cell phone lost, his knees and hands sore and stinging from a few falls, and no idea which way to go to get home. His dad was probably freaking out. He would be in so much trouble when he got home –if he got home! He was so screwed.

Stiles let out a small, frustrated groan that wasn't anything like a broke sob. Nope. He was not going to cry. Not him, no how. He wasn't going to cry or panic or anything else ridiculous like that. He would just stay at the nice tree he found and wait until morning. His dad would have a search party out by morning, he was sure of it. He would find him and yell at him for going into the forest on his own while hugging him so tightly that it would be hard for Stiles to breathe.

Until then, though, Stiles would just have to wait patiently.

Stiles rolled his eyes at himself. Yeah, because if he was one thing, it was patient.

The night air had crisp chill to it. Stiles shivered and slid down to sit with his back at the trunk of the tree. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged his arms around them. His light jacket was of little help.

Supposedly, the moon was full that night. Supposedly the sky was clear allowing the moon to shine bright enough to illuminate the thinner parts of the forest. Supposedly, that meant it was a perfect night for a bush party. Stiles wouldn't know. A, he hadn't seen the moon in five years, and B, whether or not there was an actual bush party happening that night remained to be seen. He really wanted to hate Scott for ditching him; he really wanted to hate everyone for not giving a rat's ass about him, but, whatever –what he really wanted was to get home.

He could remember looking through his bedroom window on the nights of the full moon when he was little and thinking that it looked so eerie. His mother would come into his room and sit next to him on his bed and tell him stories about mysterious lands filled with magical creatures and how special the full moon was to some of them. Stiles couldn't see the moon now, but just knowing it was full up in the sky above him made goosebump rise on his skin.

...or maybe it was the cold.

The temperature was quickly dropping and Stiles was starting to worry about hypothermia. It didn't take that much to bring it on, he had learned in science class. Usually, the term hypothermia would make one imagine the north with polar bears and snow and ice and all that, but he could get it even in California if he were exposed to the elements for long.

Stiles pressed his forehead against his kneecaps and began breathing heavily, the warm of his breath getting trapped against his body and giving him a little warmth. It was then that he heard a twig snap to his left. He tensed, raising his head and straining his ears to try to place the source.

He could hear shuffling but no footsteps, like whatever was moving nearby was large, but light on its feet.

"Scott?" called out Stiles haltingly.

Whoever or whatever it was, he knew it couldn't be Scott from the way it moved. Still... one could hope, right?

More movement.

More shuffling. It sounded like low hanging branches and forest floor shrubbery was being moved.

"Who's there?" he asked, his voice coming out strained.  
Stiles instinctively pushed back closer to the tree. He felt vulnerable and panicky. He took a few deep, cleansing breaths to ward off the panic attack he could feel tightening his chest.

"Will you please just say something?" he asked. The movement was coming from his other side by then. He was being circled. "Seriously, this isn't funny, dude."

Silence.

Stiles strained his ears, desperately seeking more information even while trying to focus on regulating his breathing. Silence. Every muscle in his body was tightened, ready for use. He could feel adrenaline pumping through his veins and his heart hammering its way up his throat.

He barely stopped himself from screaming in a completely undignified way when a cool, wet nose touched his hand moments later. Warm breath ghosted over his fingers. Stiles held his breath, waiting. The animal was still as if thinking. Finally, the muzzle pressed into his hand and he tentatively reached with his other to touch the animal. His fingertips met coarse fur. Stiles ran his hand over the animal, wanting to confirm his guess of its identity. Its fur was so thick and, if he pushed his fingers more deeply into it, it was so soft beneath the coarse exterior. It licked his hand.

"Dog?" asked Stiles.

The animal stepped closer to him, snuffling up his arm before nosing over his face.

"You're friendly," commented Stiles feeling relieved even though he was still struggling with his breathing.

It licked the side of his face, warm breath feeling nearly scorching in the cold night air. Stiles made a face and rubbed his hand over the spot to rid himself of residual saliva.

"What are you doing out here, Fido?" he asked.

The dog(?) huffed at him before gently taking hold of his jacket sleeve in its teeth.

"Uh, what is this?" asked Stiles as the animal pulled on him, trying to get him to stand. "Is this an episode of Lassie or something?"

He chuckled to himself as he followed the animal's direction and stood up. He kept one hand on its shoulder to steady himself.

"Whoa, you're big," he said, realizing just how tall the animal was now that he was standing next to it with his hand on its back.

The dog(?) whined, nosing at his hand before turning and walking away.

"You want me to follow?" asked Stiles, reaching out with his hands to keep from walking into a tree.

He stumbled forward for a bit, trying to follow the sound of movement ahead of him. Despite his attempts at keeping a steady pace, the sounds of the dog(?)'s movement kept getting further and further away. When it got too far, Stiles just stopped. Seconds later, the animal was back at his side. It licked his hand almost as if in apology for moving too fast.

Then, it grabbed his sleeve in its teeth and began to lead him . The going was slow but the dog was actually really good at leading.

"Are you a Seeing Eye dog or something?" asked Stiles when the dog had led him around a fallen log instead of over it. "Why are you doing this? How do you even know to do this?"

They walked a bit further before Stiles started asking more questions as if the dog understood and might actually answer.

"Oh! Are you from the station?" asked Stiles, suddenly. "Dad was talking about getting a canine unit going. Does that mean they already have a search party out for me? Leave it to my dad, the freaking Sherriff, to refuse to wait the mandatory twenty four hours."

The animal (police dog?) didn't answer; not that Stiles had expected it to, but it would have been nice. The silence bothered Stiles. He hated silence. It made him nervous when it was too quiet. Silence made him feel more blind than he was with no sounds to give him any idea of what was going on or conversation to give him a feel of the other person's mood.

"You'd think you'd have a handler with you if you were a police dog, though," he thought out loud, suddenly.

It was probably a good fifteen minutes later, but Stiles couldn't be sure, that the ground began to slope like it did near the highway. The dog carefully led him down the cliff, making sure to go slow enough that Stiles could pick his way down. When Stiles could feel solid, flat pavement under his feet, the dog dropped his arm.

"Uh, thanks," said Stiles reaching out awkwardly to try to pat the dog's head. "Which way to start walking toward town, though?" he asked, gesturing up and down the road. He let out a sigh, his joints aching and his body beginning to shiver violently now that he wasn't moving. "I'm cold and tired," he complained.

The dog whined at him.

"What?" asked Stiles.

The dog pushed at his hand with its head before walking away from him back where they had come from. Stiles was quick to obey, following the dog with his hand on its back to steady him.

They walked back up the hill a little ways until they came to a mossy area. The dog laid down at the base of a tree. Stiles sat down beside it.

"So... we wait until someone finds me or I hear a car?" asked Stiles.

The dog let out a low huff almost as if confirming Stiles' question.

"Good plan," said Stiles.

He leaned back against the tree trunk and wrapped his arms around himself. He shivered. The dog got up and pushed against his side. Stiles opened his arms and it crawled over his lap, wrapping itself around him and instantly making him feel much warmer. Stiles pushed his fingers through its heavy coat of fur.

"You're not a dog, are you?" he asked, suddenly. "You're a wolf."

The dog(?), wolf(?) let out another huff and then pushed its face into the crook of Stiles' neck. Stiles smiled a little and cuddled closer to his fluffy, cuddly heat source.

-  
He woke later, sore and tired, but warm and relaxed. He realized he had someone's arms wrapped around him and his own hands were pressed into firm, warm, masculine muscle. He hummed happily thinking it was some sort of awesome dream.

Nope.

The person in his lap shifted, snuffling into his throat, their stubble rasping against the skin of his neck and jaw –definitely not a dream. Stiles was definitely, actually cuddling with a naked dude. He tried to subtly shift his one hand were it was low on the guy's back even lower. Yep. Yep, definitely... completely... actually naked. Naked like nature had intended.

"Um," spoke Stiles hesitantly.  
He couldn't think of any explanation for him to be waking up in such a position.

"Shh, sleeping," spoke a deep, rumbling voice, gravely with sleep. Stiles' stomach flipped at the sound.

"Yeah, sure... uh..." stammered Stiles before taking a deep breath. "That's... great... and I'm sorry to... wake you? I just am... a little concerned? I guess? I... you're naked and I'm kind of holding you and... I'm sorry but I really don't know how or why?"

The man snuggled closer into Stiles, nuzzling his face against his throat and snuffling as if he loved his scent. It made Stiles think of the dog or wolf or wolfdog from the night before and...

"Whoa!" exclaimed Stiles, suddenly.

The man in his lap stiffened.

"This is way better than the Princess and the Frog. I just had to cuddle a fluffy dog and I get to wake up to a... are you a prince? An actual prince? Is it weird if I call you my prince? I mean, you're already naked and lying across my lap and I'm pretty sure that's not a stick poking me and... hahahaha... I'm asking you if you're a prince, I'm holding a naked man in my lap and talking about kids' Disney movies. I promise I'm not crazy. Whatever, I don't need to explain myself to you... you're freaking naked and in my lap and we're in the forest and..."

"Wolf."

"Uh... what?"

"Not a dog, a wolf," said the man.

"So, that was your pet wolf?" asked Stiles.

"No."

"Oookay," said Stiles, drawing out the word.

Silence.

The man snuggled his face against Stiles' shoulder and neck again, dragging his nose over his throat and down his chest.

"What... wait... are you saying that you're... that the wolf was you?" asked Stiles, trying to piece together what he knew. "Are you... some kind of werewolf or something?"

He chuckled as he said it, thinking it was ridiculous.

"Yes," came his answer in the same monotone seriousness as every word from the naked man before it.

"Whoa," breathed out Stiles.

The man went back to rubbing his face against him. Stiles was beginning to wonder what it said about him that he wasn't more alarmed by the situation.

"You smell amazing," rumbled the naked werewolf man.

"Um... thanks," answered Stiles. "Wait, you're not going to eat me, right?"

The man huffed. It was a sound similar to the one the wolf had made a few times the night before. It sounded like a mix of amusement and annoyance.

Suddenly, the man went tense in his arms. Stiles held his breath, unsure of what was going on.

"Your father's coming," he said, then. "I can hear his cruiser. You better get down to the road."

He slid out of Stiles' arms and helped him stand.

"Wow, quite the hear you have there," said Stiles as he stretched his sore limbs.

"Wolf perks."

"Right," answered Stiles.

Now that Stiles was more awake, he was having a much harder time believing what only minutes earlier seemed like a good explanation. Did this guy really think he was a werewolf? Or was he just being a dick? What was going on? Maybe Stiles hadn't wandered far from where the bush party was supposed to happen and some naked drunk had stumbled across him in the night and decided to cuddle for warmth.

The naked guy took him by his elbow and led him down the embankment toward the road just like the wolf had the night before. He let go of him once he was standing on the side of the road. It was only then that Stiles' ears picked up the sound of an approaching vehicle in the distance.

"Don't wander into the road," warned the guy as if Stiles was the idiot wandering around the forest in the nude.

"Yeah," answered Stiles. "I'll keep that in mind."

And then Stiles was alone. He kind of missed the warmth of the naked dude at his side, but he didn't have long to think about it before a vehicle pulled up beside him. The car door opened and slammed shut.

"Stiles!" exclaimed his father, frantic worry and anger apparent in his voice. "DAMNIT, STILES, WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

His father's arms gathered him in a tight hug, pulling him tight against his chest.

"You are in so much trouble," sobbed his father, kissing the top of his head.

Stiles hugged him back just as tightly, feeling a relief flood his system that made him suddenly weak. His father ushered him into the cruiser and buckled him into the front seat like a small child before running around the front of the car and climbing into the driver's seat.

"Don't you ever do this again, you hear me?" breathed out his father.

"I'm sorry," mumbled Stiles.

"Yeah," sighed his father. "I'm going to kill Scott."

"You haven't already?" asked Stiles, unable to hide his grin.

His father let out a wet chuckle and patted his knee heavily before putting the car in gear and starting toward home. Stiles leaned his head against the window, letting the hum of the engine and the sounds of his father radioing back and forth to inform everyone that he had found Stiles lull him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Story #2**

* * *

**Title: **Establishing a Pattern

**Rating:** PG-13

**Characters:** Stiles, Derek, Scott, Sheriff Stilinski

* * *

**Grocery Store Encounter**

* * *

"I heard that!" snapped Stiles glaring in his father's general direction. "Put it back, old man!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," replied his father with false innocence.

Stiles leaned forward over the handle of the shopping cart, fishing through the cart for the bag of potato chips he knew his father had just tried to sneak in.

"I distinctly heard the crinkle of a ba... aha!" exclaimed Stiles triumphantly when his hand closed over the bag. He straightened, holding the bag out and frowning judgementally. "You know, it really is quite shameful that the Beacon Hills Sherriff would try to take advantage of a po..."

Stiles stopped mid-self-righteous rant before he could really even get going. A voice from the aisle over had caught his attention. He listened for a few beats.

"...had them first, can't you get something else?"

Stiles' mouth fell open in surprise when he placed the strangely familiar voice. He dropped the chips back into the cart, grabbed his cane and hurried down the aisle.

"Stiles?" called his father in confusion, but Stiles offered no explanation.

"Let go you big oaf," snapped an elderly lady's voice as Stiles rounded the next aisle.

"I. Had. It. First," grunted a deep voice.

"I'll scream for security if you don't let go," threatened the woman.

"Mrs. Chavez?" questioned Stiles slowing his pace as he approached the kafuffle.

"Stiles, my dear," answered the woman, her voice instantly melting into something warm and loving from the sharpness it was seconds earlier. "Don't come any closer, my child, there is the ugliest of brutes next to me trying to steal my groceries. He seems to think it is acceptable behavior to prey on us gentler folk."

Stiles grinned at that.

"Who calls you 'gentler folk', Mrs. Chavez?" he asked while smiling his most charming of smiles.

The woman chuckled.

"Anyway, I'm sure if he knows what's good for him, he'll let you have whatever it is you two are fighting over," said Stiles while sending a meaningful frown toward the area giving of an overall gloom and doom aura.

He heard a familiar huff of frustration and couldn't help but smile at it. Mrs. Chavez was suddenly making sounds of triumph, so Stiles figured he had successfully diffused the situation.

"That's better," she said before leaning into Stiles. "Now, Stiles, are you here alone? Why aren't any of the employees here helping you? Do I need to talk to the manager?"

"I'm here with my dad," Stiles assured her, patting the hand that had somehow wound around his forearm. "He's in the next aisle trying to sneak junk food into the cart."

Mrs. Chavez made a clucking sound like she didn't approve, but in a conspirational way as if she and Stiles were both in on the light-hearted judging of his father. Actually, that wasn't really that far from the truth, Stiles realized.

"I came over when I heard your lovely voice in distress," lied Stiles flirtingly.

"Ah, thank you my sweet! You're a hero just like your father," she said sounding both flirty and motherly at the same time. Stiles really wondered how little old ladies managed that. Perhaps it was a prerequisite for getting old. "Well, I best be going. I need to get home and clean the house. My grandchildren are coming for the weekend, you know."

"Awesome," said Stiles. "Say 'hi' to Jeremy and Shawna for me."

"That's sweet, I will do that," answered Mrs. Chavez. "Good bye, dear."

"Bye, Mrs. Chavez."

Stiles listened for the sound of her cart creaking and rolling away from him down the aisle before turning his attention to the man he could sense was still standing nearby.

"I think I've held you naked before," said Stiles, grinning as he said it because of how deliciously audacious it sounded even for him.

The man cleared his throat awkwardly and Stiles momentarily panicked worrying that he had guessed wrong at them being alone in the aisle.

"She stole my Sugar Wheaties," complained the man a few beats later.

Stiles' face stretched into a bright grin in response.

"I'm pretty sure wolves don't eat cereal for breakfast," he said. "Wouldn't you prefer a freshly killed rabbit or some other fluffy woodland creature you caught with your own teeth?"

"Yeah, sometimes," answered the man seriously causing Stiles' smug grin to falter, "but I like Sugar Wheaties."

Stiles scoffed at that.

"That was the last box," growled the man.

"Really," said Stiles, "you should be thanking her... and me. That stuff is garbage and is absolutely terrible on your system. All those preservatives and sugars and nasty shit cannot be good for you. I mean, hell, it is right in the name... SUGAR Wheaties."

"But there's also wheat in the name," countered the man sounding pouty. "That's supposed to be good for you."

"Not the point," groaned Stiles, rubbing a hand over his forehead as if it physically pained him how dense the guy was being. "All the sugar and chemicals in there completely counteract any good stuff it might have. If you insist on eating your food all dehydrated and from a box like some kind of house pet, at least pick something better. Down the aisle a bit there's a green box that says Mueslae. Do you see it?"

The man grunted in response.

"Buy that," ordered Styles. "There's no dyes or preservatives or other weird ass shit. It is a bunch of nuts and dried fruit and grains and coconut. It tastes like the freaking Garden of Eden. Plus, it is organic and fair trade and the packaging is even 100% biodegradable... you know, if you're into that sort of thing."

"You some kind of hippy?" asked the man, his raspy, low voice making really any stupid thing that came out of his mouth sound sexy.

"Hippy?" sputtered Stiles. "So, I have to be a hippy to want to eat healthy food instead of SUGAR WHEATIES junk. That shit will KILL you DEAD."

Stiles let out a put-upon sigh.

"I guess you don't really have much sense of self-preservation, though. I mean, you chose to pick a fight with Mrs. Chasez of all people! She may be small, but she is freaking scrappy, dude."

"I had it first," grumbled the man. "She took it right out of my hand."

Stiles laughed, shaking his head and working hard to stop himself from reaching out to touch the other man. There was just something about him that made Stiles want to be closer to him. And his scent, it smelled of pine trees and moss. He smelled so good, so fresh and warm and inviting. Stiles might not have the olfactory of a werewolf, but given his whole sight situation, he did put a bit more stock on smell than the average person.

"Stiles?" said his father, suddenly. He approached them from further up the aisle having come from the opposite direction as Stiles had. "Why'd you just run off like that? Oh... hey... who's this?"

"Oh, uh... dad!" stammered Stiles, smiling awkwardly and flailing slightly. A few explanations ran through his mind, but none of them seemed like good icebreakers. Hey, look Dad, this guy found me when I was lost in the wood and helped me find the road. He thinks he's a werewolf, but don't worry, he hasn't tried to bite me yet—Yeah, maybe not. Stiles didn't even know the guy's name so he could introduce him like a normal person.

"Derek," said the man, ending Stiles' internal freak out with one simple word. "Nice to meet you, sir."

Stiles could hear the rustle of fabric and a few footsteps. He imagined the two men taking steps closer to each other and shaking hands.

"Derek... Hale?" asked his father.

"Yes," replied the man, Derek, tightly.

"Wow, I haven't seen you since... er... since you were just a boy," said his father. Stiles wondered why the stunted sentence. "So... are you just visiting or have you moved back into town?"

"I just moved back," answered Derek, his voice monotone and low, not giving Stiles any clues.

"Ah, well, welcome back, son," said Stiles' dad in response.

"Thanks."

"We better get going if we're going to get all these groceries home and put away before my shift starts," said Stiles' dad.

"Right," said Stiles, not really wanting to leave Derek just yet. "Uh, bye Derek... see you... around."

"Bye," came the awkward, stunted answer.

Stiles gave a little wave in the guy's general direction before dropping his white cane back into the shopping cart and taking over pushing it while his dad led the way with a hand on the front.

"So, you friends with that Derek kid or something?" asked his father trying to sound conversational but Stiles knew better.

"Ah, well, we've talked once or twice," answered Stiles, unsure how to properly answer the question that suddenly started to feel like an actual exam or something. "He seems... interesting."

"Yeah."

Silence followed. Well, sort of silence. There was the beeping of the lady at the register checking their groceries through the till and the general hum of people talking and roaming around the grocery store. Once their groceries were bagged and paid for, they carried them out to the cruiser.

"Next time you talk to him," said Stiles' father once they were both seated in the car, "you should invite him over for supper."

"Uh... okay, sure?" answered Stiles, feeling completely confused by the thought.

"Good," said his father. "He could probably use another friend and I doubt he has many people in his life right now."

Stiles frowned, wondering what his dad knew that he didn't. He shrugged it off, though, and buckled his seatbelt. He leaned forward to turn on the radio as his father put the car in reverse and backed out of their parking spot.

"I know you bought those chips, by the way," said Stiles as they pulled out into the street.

He grinned when he heard his father curse under his breath.

* * *

**His Milkshake Brings All The Boys To The Yard**

* * *

"I can't believe the amount of homework the new world history teacher gave us for the weekend," whined Scott. "Doesn't he know we have lives— oh, careful, there's a..."

"I've got it, thanks," cut in Stiles, his white cane clicking against the stone pot sitting in front of the hardware store. "What colour this year?"

"Pink and white," answered Scott.

Stiles hummed to himself, nodding.

"Why do you ask every spring?" asked Scott, curiously, a few beats later.

Stiles could feel the corners of his mouth pulling down. He swallowed and shrugged, trying to look unbothered by the topic.

"Mom always looked forward to when Mr. Johnson put his flower pot out front," he answered. He cleared his throat a few times trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. "She said it meant spring was truly here. We made a game of trying to guess what colours the flowers would be, he likes to change it up every year."

"Oh... uh," stammered Scott before letting out a sigh and placing his hand on Stiles' arm. They paused in their journey down main street. Stiles could practically feel the sympathy radiating from Scott. "Stiles," he breathed, "I'm..."

"Don't," snapped Stiles, but immediately feeling sorry for speaking so sharply. "Don't say you're sorry," he said more softly. "There's... I'm not sorry. It's a good memory, you know? I don't want to be sad about having good memories."

"Yeah," said Scott after a long moment. "I could... I could guess with you next year... I mean, if you want."

Stiles grinned, patting Scott's shoulder while shaking his own head.

"No way, buddy," he said. "You'd just cheat and say you got it right. I wouldn't know the difference."

"Dude!" exclaimed Scott in horror. "I would never use that against you like that!"

"Oh my g... I was _teasing_, Scott," said Stiles with an exasperated sigh.

"I'm sorry about last month," said Scott, suddenly. "You know I would never have..."

"Scott," said Stiles, frowning hard, "it's fine."

"No, it is _so_ not fine," argued Scott.

"Yeah, you're right," answered Stiles after a moment. "It really wasn't fine, but you've apologized about a million times and you bought me Reeses cups every day for a week, so... yeah, we're good, okay?"

Stiles began walking again, his cane arcing back and forth in front of him. He could hear Scott groan behind him and his footsteps as he jogged a few paces to catch up.

"I'm such a bad friend," whined Scott. "What kind of person leaves their best friend alone in the woods?"

"One who was lured away by the dastardly, curvalicious charms of a lovely but wily young female?" suggested Stiles with a crooked smile and a shrug. "It wouldn't be the first time it has happened to a guy; crafty ladies."

"I'll go back to buying you Reeses peanut butter cups every day," decided Scott, speaking thoughtfully but a little mournfully. "Actually, I'll buy you _two_ every school day for the rest of the school year."

"Scott," ground out Stiles, his good humor falling to annoyance, "I'm fine, everything turned out _fine._ Can we just forget about it?"

Scott sighed and Stiles clenched his jaw. As much as it had sucked to be alone and disoriented in the woods before the wolf had shown up, the worst part of the entire ordeal had come the next day when Stiles had walked into school. The air around him had been heavy with lingering looks and whispered comments. It didn't take long for him to learn that almost the entire town knew about him having been lost in the woods after his friend had left him to go frolic with a female.

It had been humiliating. Stiles hated –no, hate wasn't a strong enough word, he detested, he despised, he_ loathed... _he scorned with the passion and fire of a thousand suns... feeling useless and needy. He couldn't stand appearing like some weak little cripple in the eyes of the general public. When people looked at him, he knew they only saw his handicap. He tried to let it roll off his back like a duck in the rain, but it did wear on him; how could it not?

It was so much worse when his deepest fears were brought to the light; that those he cared for really only saw him as a burden. Did Scott wish to leave him and have regular friends instead of some blind tag-along he felt he had to always look out for? Was guilt the only thing keeping him at Stiles' side?

They walked together in silence for a while, the swish and click of Stiles' cane the only sound standing out to them outside from the background noises of the town around them. Stiles stewed in his angry angst, not caring to wonder at Scott's current mental state. Then, suddenly, Scott grabbed Stiles' bicep and slowed their pace.

"Stiles," whispered Scott.

"What?" answered Stiles, whispering as well though he wasn't sure why.

"There's some creepy dude looking at us."

"Umm... kay," said Stiles before he pulled his arm from Scott's grasp, but Scott just grabbed it again.

"Yeah, more like staring," said Scott, sounding properly disturbed. "Just standing there staring."

"That's... kind of weird, but... why are we stopping?"

"_Because_," hissed Scott, "because he's staring and he's freaky looking and he's right ahead of us standing in front of the ice cream parlour and I don't really want... can we just cross the street or something?"

"No, we're nearly to the library," said Stiles. "Who is he?"

"I _don't know_!" hissed Scott, his hand tightening on Stiles.

"Dude, it's Beacon Hills, everyone knows everyone," said Stiles, pushing at Scott's hand. "Watch it, you're creasing my jacket."

"Well, I don't know who that guy is," said Scott.

Unbidden, Stiles' thoughts flit back to Derek, the strange guy who thought he was a werewolf and fought little old ladies in the grocery store for the last box of Sugar Wheaties.

"What... what does he look like?" asked Stiles, not that he knew what Derek looked like, but perhaps he could rule him out.

"He's creepy looking," said Scott and Stiles let out a huff of exasperation because Scott should have been better at describing stuff by that point. "I dunno, man, he's buff like he works out _a lot_. He looks like he's twenty something; dark hair, angry face, kind of ugly, wearing a leather jacket. He looks like a criminal, maybe a drug dealer or a murderer or something."

"Okay, I have no idea who that is," said Stiles, shaking his head.

"He's still staring," said Scott, weakly.

"Well, let's go say 'hi', then," said Stiles before taking a step forward.

"Stiles... no... Are you crazy?"

Stiles just continued forward a few paces, unsure of exactly where this creepy, staring guy was, but curious as to how the entire thing would play out. He could hear Scott at his side, muttering nervously to himself.

"Uhhh... heeeey, hi," said Scott, suddenly, and Stiles knew they must have approached the man. He stopped and cocked his head to the side, waiting for the other person to speak so he would know which direction to look.

"Stiles," said the man, suddenly, his deep, sexy voice sending a familiar shiver up Stiles' spine.

"Derek?" asked Stiles, mentally cursing himself when the word came out in a wobbly stutter.

"Finish school for the day?" he asked and Stiles nodded.

"Who _are_ you?" asked Scott.

Stiles clicked his tongue at how rude Scott sounded. There was a long moment of silence where Stiles really wished he could see the facial expressions of the two other people.

"Derek," said Derek.

"Yeah, I got that," said Scott, his tone unusually hostile considering his usual demeanor. "How do you know Stiles? How come I've never seen you before?"

"I haven't been in town long," explained Derek, though it was hardly an explanation.

Stiles floundered to try to figure out something to say to steer the conversation, but he was strangely coming up with nothing.

"And, you know Stiles... how?" asked Scott, practically bristling like an angry dog. Stiles patted his shoulder heavily in warning.

"We've met a few times," said Derek, vaguely.

"Are you some sort of drug dealer or something?" asked Scott. "Because we're not interested."

"Scott," exclaimed Stiles, "down boy!"

"Hey, Derek? Nice weather we're having," said Stiles, turning his attentions toward the other man. "We're just headed to the town library to do some research for class. What are you up to, today? Enjoying the spring weather while you creep the local ice cream shop?"

"Maybe I wanted a milkshake," growled Derek but Stiles could detect something akin to humor in his voice.

"Uh huh," said Stiles, nodding solemnly. "Well, Scott says you were being creepy. Do you enjoy looming over small children until they drop their ice cream in terror?"

"Almost as much as talking to you guys," answered Derek and Stiles barked out a laugh.

"So, my dad said that next time I talked to you, I should invite you over for dinner," said Stiles.

Silence followed.

"_So_... do you want to come over for dinner?" asked Stiles, awkwardly, "maybe Sunday night?"

More heavy silence.

"What should I bring?" asked Derek a few beats later.

Stiles grinned.

"Just your sunny personality," he said. He could hear an amused huff and his grin only widened. "Anyway, we need to get to the library; gotta check out some books so we can burn the midnight oil. You know how it is."

"Right," said Derek as if he actually didn't know how it was.

"See you Sunday, wolfykins," said Stiles, giving him a little wave before turning to leave.

With Scott at his side, they walked in silence for a while. Stiles could tell Scott was holding in a year's worth of questions and exclamations. When they were nearly at the town library, Scott finally breathed out a heavy breath.

"Dude," Scott squawked, "What the _hell_?"

Stiles burst out laughing.

* * *

**Fancy Meeting You Here**

* * *

Stiles barely suppressed the urge to groan, barely. He yearned for the days when he had his gameboy to play when he had something incredibly boring and stomach-turningly ridiculous to wait out. Not that he didn't appreciate Scott's attempts to include him in his outings even now that he had a girlfriend, but being a third wheel wasn't his idea of a good time. Spending his Thursday afternoon listening to Scott compliment Allison on everything from her hair to her toes whenever he could work it into the conversation while Allison acted pleasantly embarrassed by it, was definitely, definitely not Stiles' idea of a good time. At least he had his milkshake.

It wasn't even that he didn't like Allison. She seemed nice –actually ridiculously, teeth rottingly sweet, but with a bit of spunk and good humor hiding just beneath her surface. Most people seemed to only see her as super-sweet, but it was a lot easier to read between the lines when someone spent as much time and energy trying to interpret tone as Stiles had. He didn't have facial expressions to read as cues anymore, but it seemed like tone of voice really held all the clues if one would just listen. Allison, she definitely had some badassery to her. Stiles would probably really like her; would probably want to be "BFFs" with her if she hadn't turned his best friend into some sort of lovestruck moron.

"Ugh, I'm so sick of this hair always getting in my face," spoke Allison after making a little noise of frustration. "I think I'm going to get it cut this weekend."

"Oh, no," cooed Scott, "your hair is so beautiful, Allison."

"Are you saying you wouldn't want to date me if I had short hair?" teased Allison.

"No, no, no," exclaimed Scott, obviously not registering she was joking, "Of course not. You would be beautiful with short hair, too! You'd be beautiful bald, even."

Stiles held back a derisive snort. He went after his straw to keep his mouth busy so he wouldn't offer any snide remarks. He took a few long pulls from his milkshake and resolutely tuned out the conversation at his table. A few moments later, the door of the shop opened and shut causing Allison to suddenly go quiet. Stiles furrowed his brow and strained his ears.

"Guys," she said in a low voice a few seconds later, "is that... Derek Hale?"

Stiles was going to comment on that fact that he couldn't actually see who had come in until he heard the name. He tensed, lifting his head and letting the straw fall from his mouth.

"Which guy?" asked Scott.

"The one who just came in," said Allison. The sound of shifting in the seat across from him made Stiles think Allison was probably gesturing. "He's standing at the counter now, ordering."

No one spoke for a few beats, Stiles sat at attention while he waited.

"Yes? I mean... I think so?" answered Scott, finally. "It's that guy you had over for supper last weekend, Stiles. Was his last name Hale?"

Stiles choked on nothing, coughing a few times and pounding a fist against his chest.

"How... do you know him?" he asked Allison.

"Everyone's heard about the Hale fire, Stiles," cut in Scott. "Wait, he's _that_ Derek Hale?"

"Yeah, but Allison moved here only two_ months_ ago," grit out Stiles while wondering, not for the first time, if Allison sucked all his brains out of him when they made out and resolutely ignoring Scott's question.

"Fire?" asked Allison, confused.

"Oh, right! So, how _do_ you know him?" asked Scott, suddenly sounding intrigued and confused.

"Well, he and my aunt... oh, Hi! Derek, right?" she suddenly said, false brightly.

"You're Allison," sounded Derek's gruff reply in a neutral voice that gave Stiles nothing to go on.

"I am," replied Allison, sweetly.

A few moments of awkward silence followed.

"Scott," greeted Derek, then.

Scott made a weird sound in the back of his throat in reply.

"Stiles," said Derek in the same way, except for that he held the word on his tongue just a little bit longer. Stiles wanted to read into that, but he figured it wasn't purposeful, was probably just because he was more familiar to Derek than Scott.

"Hey, Derek," chirped Stiles. Despite the strange energy at the table, Stiles was happy for the interruption to ScottandAllison time. "What are you up to this lovely afternoon? Getting a miiilkshaaake?"

He grinned when he heard a soft huff.

"Would you like to join us, Derek?" offered Allison.

Stiles held his breath for the few seconds it took Derek to reply. He wasn't sure what he hoped Derek would say. On one hand, he would love the threesome to be turned into a foursome and erase his third wheel status. On the other hand, it would just be plain awkward all around. He thought back to Sunday and the stilted conversation between Derek and his father over roast beef and yams.

"Thank you, but no," said Derek, in his regular, neutral, gruff tone before he placed a heavy hand on Stiles' shoulder and leaned in conspiratorially. "I need to get back to my looming. This warm weather makes for a lot of little children with ice cream to frighten."

The hand disappeared from his shoulder before Stiles could even react to what Derek said. He was too busy choking on his own laughter to even reply when he heard Derek call out a "good bye, Stiles" over his shoulder as the front door of the shop opened and closed.

"What the hell?" asked Scott a few moments later, but Stiles just shook his head, the rest of him still shaking with laughter. He needed a moment.


	3. Chapter 3

**Story #3**

* * *

**Title: **Making Connections

**Rating:** PG-13

**Characters:** Stiles, Derek, Scott, Sheriff Stilinski

* * *

**1.**

* * *

There was a black wolf sprawled on Derek's front porch when he got home. The spring sun was warm and the wolf seemed to be enjoying it immensely, not even moving when Derek got out of his car with two milkshakes in his hands. He was still smiling over having been able to make Stiles laugh with his parting words.

He walked up to the mobile home on what was the early beginning of a path worked into the grass from use. He sat down on the top step of the deck, setting one milkshake down beside him and lifting the other to take a drink. The wolf didn't move. Derek looked out across the large, grassy yard that had been the bane of his existence as a preteen when it was his job to mow it every week. His chest twisted with pain when he allowed his eyes to rest on what used to be a beautiful, large house. It hurt to look at, but he worried it would hurt even more to tear it down.

"You milkshake will melt if you leave it too long," he spoke softly.

The black wolf cracked open a golden eye and peered lazily up at him. Derek gestured at the milkshake sitting at his side. The wolf huffed out a sigh and rolled to its feet. It lazily walked into the little mobile home through the open door and disappeared. Derek took another long pull of his strawberry milkshake. Moments later, Derek's sister appeared. She stepped out onto the deck in a tank top and shorts and sat down beside him on the top step of their deck.

"Are you sure you want it bulldozed?" asked Derek nodding at the remains of their family home while his sister picked up her milkshake.

She didn't reply right away. Derek waited silently for his answer, used to the silence. She pulled her long black hair into a pony tail with the elastic band on her wrist. Derek took another drink of his milkshake. So did she.

"Mmm, perfect," she said as she wiped a finger at the corner of her mouth.

She leaned back on her elbows, stretching her legs out in front of her, and closed her eyes.

"Laura," pressed Derek, realizing she wasn't thinking on her answer so much as avoiding answering at all.

She let out a sigh.

"We can keep the same foundation if you want," she said.

Derek's mind traitorously flitted back to the night of the fire. The cries of his family trapped in their basement filled his ears, smoke choked his lungs, and image of their hands reaching out through a barred window tore at his heart.

"Can we afford a new one?" he asked in a strained voice.

"It would definitely put a strain on the overall budget," answered Laura thoughtfully.

The thoughtful look on his sister's face let him know she was calculating costs. He wanted to hate her for being able to think only of jackhammers and concrete mixers while he was being torn up from the inside out by memories of house fires and gut-wrenching screams. He couldn't, though. How could he possibly wish his burden onto his sister?

He ground his teeth together willing the images to leave his mind, willing himself to move past it, willing himself to just be okay... It was just concrete, it wouldn't be the same basement, wouldn't still be a crime scene.

When Laura's hand slid into his, Derek realized his breathing was loud and uneven.

"We can tighten out budget elsewhere," she said. "It will be worth the cost."

Derek hated himself for how quickly his shoulders slumped in relief at that. It made him look week, feel young and idiotic.

"Whatever you decide will be fine," he said stiffly.

"Der," she said with a sigh, "this is our home, you need to be just as involved in these decisions as me."

"No," argued Derek, looking out across the lawn at the charred house, "It will be your house once it is rebuilt. You're the Alpha."

Laura let out a long sigh.

"For now," she said cryptically while patting Derek's knee. She got to her feet and turned to go back into the house.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when it happened, little brother," she said gently.

Derek could feel tears prick at his eyes.

"I'm sorry I_ was_," he croaked.

He waited until Laura had gone back inside before wiping at his eyes.

"We need a pack, Derek," snapped Laura, her eyes blazing red. The words were familiar as the argument had been ongoing since they had first moved back to Beacon Hills. "We're weak alone! We need a new family!"

Derek winced at the word. He raised another spoonful of soup to his mouth, hoping to cover his reaction, but Laura had seen it. She softened a little, reaching across the table to give Derek's free hand a squeeze.

"You know we're stronger in numbers," she said gently. "Right now, we're practically sitting ducks. Our territory is large and there's only two of us to protect it. An unmated Alpha and her little beta brother would be reason enough for other packs to want to come claiming, but the land... that's even more incentive.

I know the wound is still raw, Der, but we need to do this. Please do this with me. Do this for us, our territory -our _family's_ territory." Derek winced and looked away, grinding his teeth. Laura squeezed his hand to get him to look at her again. "Do it for me?" she pleaded.

Derek let out a long breath and set down his spoon.

"Where do you want me to start looking?" he asked.

Laura smiled, her canines still pointed from their argument.

"The highschool," she said. "Teenagers are funny things, always searching, not knowing what they want, but never satisfied with what they have. I remember when you were fifteen..."

"Laura," hissed Derek.

"They'll be easier to recruit and young enough that they might actually listen," she said, giving Derek an apologetic look. "I worry that anyone older than us will have a harder time submitting to such a young Alpha."

Derek nodded.

"What should I look for in particular?" he asked.

"Broken kids," she said, "People who need us just as much as we need them."

She broke her bun in half, then, and dipped part of it in her soup. Derek wanted to roll his eyes even if she was his Alpha, thinking she probably had thought it a dramatic move to end their talk with. His amusement quickly dropped, though, when it made him think of his uncle. He missed his family.

A few days later, Derek found himself in the Beacon Hills high school parking lot leaning against his sister's camaro and watching as kids began to trickle out the doors of the building. He felt incredibly conspicuous standing there like some sort of dark shadow on a bright, sunny day. He couldn't help but imagine that Stiles boy with the smart mouth and wonder what he might have to say about it. Yeah, he definitely felt like a _looming creeper_ at the moment.

He glanced down at the paper in his hand, looking over the photos Laura had printed off the school's digital yearbook of the kids he was supposed to approach. She had done her research. If Stiles thought Derek was a creep, he should meet Laura. She put stalkers to shame.

Speak of the little devil... Derek's eyes caught on the familiar form of Stiles who was walking next to his friend Scott. They were just leaving through the side doors of the school, headed toward the parking lot, talking animatedly about something. Derek would strain to listen in, but figured it wouldn't be worth the headache of trying to filter through the noise of the rest of the student body. Scott was gesturing as he spoke, even though it couldn't actually help get his point across to Stiles.

Scott must have caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye, because he suddenly looked his way. Derek watched as the boy paused mid step, mouth hanging slightly open with a half-formed thought still trying to escape his mouth, and recognition filling his face. He looked like a moron. Derek frowned, wrinkling his nose in annoyance. Scott narrowed his eyes at him, continuing whatever it was he was saying to Stiles while putting an arm around his shoulders to direct him toward the parking lot. The little dick wasn't going to let Stiles know Derek was there, nor was he going to let him have a chance to find out.

Derek grit his teeth, wondering what Scott's issue with him was. He looked away from Scott and Stiles, getting his mind back on task. He scanned the crowd, moving around like ants after their hill had been stomped. Eventually, his gaze landed on a blond with frizzy hair and an anxious expression on her face. She walked quickly, but her footsteps were not in any way confident. Her shoulders were slumped, head down, and backpack straps clutched tightly in her hands.

Erica Reyes. Derek was certain.

She didn't walk to the parking lot; instead she followed the sidewalk away from the school. Derek quickly got into the car and followed. Yeah, now he was _definitely_ a creeper.

"Erica?" called out Derek through the rolled down passenger side window of the car.

The girl paused and looked over at him nervously.

"Hi," said Derek, giving her his most disarming smile and hoping it actually came out that way.

The corners of her mouth flicked a little and she turned toward his car. Her deer-in-headlights expression didn't disappear, though.

"I'm Derek," said Derek, trying for friendly. "I'm a friend of Stiles'."

He felt like a complete asshole for using Stiles' name like that, but it definitely worked. Erica relaxed her stance and took a hesitant two steps toward his car. Derek wasn't sure why he felt a possessive annoyance tingle through him from his chest to all his extremities at the look on the girl's face at the boy's mention.

"Can I give you a ride home?" he asked, making sure he was still smiling.

"Um," she said looking unsure and confused. Derek waited patiently for her to decide, smiling and trying to give off a non-threatening vibe. "Okay," she said, finally, "thank you."

"No problem," he answered, brightly. His face was starting to ache from all the forced friendliness, but he remained strong.

Once Erica was seated in his passenger seat, her seatbelt in place and backpack at her feet, Derek put the car in gear.

"So, Erica," he said conversationally as they started forward. "I hear you have a medical condition..."

It was barely over twelve hours after Derek dropped her off at her doorstep that the girl showed up at their doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. It was cold and raining; her frizzy hair was drenched and tangled. Her eyes were puffy and red like she had done a lot of crying, but her face was set in determination.

Derek could feel Laura stepped up behind him where he stood in the doorway. She squeezed his shoulders excitedly while flashing Erica a bright smile.

"Well done, Derek," she whispered into his ear before stepping around him to take the pathetic girl by the hand and direct her into their house.

The next kid wasn't as easy to convince.

* * *

**2.**

* * *

Stiles was sitting next to Scott and eating a sandwich while listening to Allison and Lydia chat from across the table. He was content to just sit and let the sharp, but sweet tones of Lydia's voice sweep over him while he enjoyed his sandwich. His sandwich was ham and cheese with alfalfa sprouts and apple slices. His mom had always put apple slices on her sandwiches. It was good and Stiles liked that most people thought it a little unusual for a sandwich topping. He was kind of zoning in and out, sort of half aware that Lydia was talking about the colour trends for the upcoming summer.

Suddenly, though, the entire cafeteria went silent. Stiles could feel Scott tense beside him and he quickly grabbed for his cane to make sure he had it in case of some sort of emergency. The silence seemed to last forever when Stiles didn't know what was going on. Finally, though, a click-clack began to echo through the room as if someone wearing stiletto heels was walking slowly into the room from the main hall. A low murmur began stir through the room as the click-clack grew closer.

"What's going on?" asked Stiles, leaning in to Scott.

"Some girl just burst into the room," said Scott, sounding confused. "She looks like-I don't know, she looks familiar, but I don't know who she is."

"That's Erica Reyes," whispered Lydia in her 'you're a dumbass' tone–the one she used whenever she had to speak to mere mortals such as Scott and Stiles.

"Erica?" replied Scott in a low whisper that was still able to carry surprise and–was that awe? "She looks like...like batgirl...like Alicia Silverstone's batgirl, but...hotter...like batgirl and catwoman _combined_."

Stiles tried to picture it in his mind, remembering the late summer sleepovers with Scott where they had watched as many Batman movies as they could get their little hands on. Batman & Robin had been kind of a let down... well, Joel Schumacher was kind of a let down. Stiles wished Tim Burton hadn't tried to pass the torch on, because really, few could follow someone like Tim Burton. Joel Schumacher's saving grace was his casting, in Stiles' humble opinion, because, if you asked him, Chris O'Donnell and Alicia Silverstone had been equally hot in that movie... and one can't go wrong with George Clooney.

Not the point, though. No, the point was that Stiles was having a hard time picturing Erica Reyes looking like Alicia Silverstone in tight, black leather suit with corset-like ribbing and biker heels; Erica Reyes with a BAMF scowl that still allowed for pouty lips; Erica Reyes with flowy, wavy, pretty blond hair; Erica Reyes as a deadly, sexy mix between girl-next-door and dominatrix goddess extraordinaire; Erica Reyes being all confident and racing around on a motorcycle.

Yeah... no.

Does not compute.

Of course, that was the moment when Erica Reyes showed Stiles just how wrong he was. She strode right up to him in click-clacking stilettos, grabbed him by the throat and swallowed his lips with her own while the rest of the room gasped in shock and confusion, and maybe jealousy.

Her lips were heavy with lipstick, slick with gloss, and tasted like a candied apple. It made Stiles imagine her as being the poison apple and him as Snow White-a strange analogy, but his brain was busy short circuiting with surprise. There might have been a touch of arousal in there too, considering he had spent the last few seconds trying to picture batgirl only to have his face eaten by someone Scott had just described as being a batgirl/catwoman hybrid.

When Erica finally pulled back from the biting kiss she had forced on him, she let out a tinkling laugh that was, somehow, both cocky and flustered. Stiles didn't move, his face still caught in her clutches, her long fingernails pressing against his skin in a sexily threatening way.

"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to do that?" she asked, then, sounding nearly breathless, but still managing to sound confident. Stiles wondered at her transformation, his brain not quite catching up to what she had just said. When it finally did, his mouth just dropped open further. No, he didn't have any idea.

"N-no," he managed to croak.

She let go of his face, then, her laughter starting up again, this time louder, nearly a cackle. When she had sobered a little, she grabbed his shoulder and leaned in so her nose was brushing against the side of his head.

"_Years_," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.

Stiles gulped.

Erica let him go, turned on her heel and click-clacked away. She must have left the cafeteria through a side door to go straight outside, because a door banged shut seconds later and then the room erupted in noise. Stiles felt a soft hand on his and he suddenly realized his knuckles were hurting for how tightly he had been gripping his cane.

"Are you okay?" asked Allison.

"I..."

"Of course he's not okay," said Lydia, sounding angry. "He was just kiss-raped by the biggest loser in Beacon Hills High!"

Stiles kind of wanted to smile because it was the first time that Lydia sounded outraged on his behalf and it was pretty awesome. He didn't smile, though. He was sure he just looked stunned stupid. It was how he felt, so...

"Yeah, but she didn't look like a loser anymore," said Scott.

"She looked like she had some sort of makeover," agreed Allison, "and she sure wasn't acting like herself."

"Understatement," Stiles finally managed to say.

"So," started Scott as he and Stiles walked down main street of Beacon Hills as per their usual Friday afternoon routine, "do you think you and Erica will date?"

Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet at that.

"Doubtful," he said, feeling Scott's expectant eyes on him. "I haven't heard from her since the whole kiss thing yesterday. I...that...yeah, no. I don't...know?"

Stiles felt flustered by the thought. He'd been crushing on Lydia as long as he could remember, but over the years it had faded and become more of a security crush than an actual crush. Security crush, as in a crush that functioned sort of like a security blanket. The key concept was that it was supposedly odd to not have a crush on someone; it was a bad sign of his emotional status if he wasn't in a perpetual state of pining when single. It was a load of crap, but it seemed to be the opinion of the general public and the school therapist he had to sit with once a month. So, security crush it was.

It wasn't really that hard to maintain a crush on Lydia Martin, of course. He imagined she had only grown more beautiful with age and that her red hair still matched her fiery personality. He loved how she could appear fearless even though he could tell that under that girly-girl, popular exterior was an insecure geek with an IQ some scientists would be intimidated by.

He had been twelve when everything had changed, and over the past five years he had been a little preoccupied with relearning life to spend much time thinking about frivolous things like crushes. Losing a parent and almost dying, yourself, well, that was a pretty harsh reality check. Worrying over his father's mortality, trying to learn how to navigate life without his sight, having to learn an entire new way of existing. Yeah, it kind of made other things seem less important.

Not only that, but if Stiles were honest with himself, it seemed like what was left of his crush on Lydia was slowly being replaced by feelings for someone else. Someone older and, supposedly a little creepy, and who honestly thought he was an actual werewolf. Ridiculous. Still, if Lydia woke up one morning with the sudden realization that Stiles was the only one for her, he definitely wouldn't be complaining.

"Stiles?" asked Scott, pulling Stiles out of his own head. "You okay, man? You kind of just went silent."

"Sorry," said Stiles, shaking his head as if the physical movement could erase his thoughts like his brain was an etch-a-sketch.

"So, you don't want to date Erica?" asked Scott.

"Uh, I don't _not_ want to date Erica," answered Stiles, feeling awkward.

It wasn't that he and Scott didn't talk about their love lives or anything. It was just more that Scott would talk about his love life and Stiles would just listen and nod, and try to tune out the TMI parts. It felt strange being on the opposite end. Disconcerting.

"So... you do want to date Erica?" asked Scott.

"If she asked me, I wouldn't turn her down," said Stiles, truthfully, with a shrug. "I just, she wasn't really on my radar, and-I dunno, I don't really know her. It's kind of cool that she's been interested, but...she's kind of...yesterday, that was-"

"Scary," finished Scott.

Stiles laughed.

"Something like that," he agreed, nodding.

"I didn't want to say it in front of Allison," said Scott as they continued on their way, "but Erica was _so_ freaking hot."

"Yeah," said Stiles, grinning, "You kind of made your opinions of her new appearance pretty obvious. Dude, you need to work on subtle."

Scott groaned.

"Do you think Allison's mad?" he asked.

"I think Allison knows you're a moron, and so she didn't take it personally," answered Stiles.

He laughed when he received a punch to his shoulder for his efforts. Scott was laughing, too, though...until he was suddenly not.

"What?" asked Stiles.

"Does Derek drive a black camaro?" asked Scott.

"How would I know what he drives?" asked Stiles.

"Right, sorry."

"Why?" asked Stiles when Scott didn't say anything more for a few beats.

"I think I just saw him pick up Isaac Lahey," said Scott, sounding distracted like he was still watching, straining to make out what was going on at a distance. "Yeah, that was definitely Isaac getting into the car. I can't tell if that's Derek or not...and there's some girl in the front. Shit, they're driving this way."

"Umm, okay," said Stiles hesitantly. He wasn't sure why Scott was so freaked out by Derek, but having his best friend acting so nervous beside him served to put him on edge.

They stopped walking and stood on the corner as the car slowed down and came to a stop in front of them. Stiles could hear the power in the sports car as it idled.

"You boys need a ride?" asked a semi-familiar voice that sounded like a confidently flirtatious version of meek little Erica Reyes.

Stiles knew he looked dumbstruck again, even without the cackle that bubbled out of Erica. He closed his mouth and frowned.

"Why? So you can sexually assault me again?" he asked, hoping he sounded more peeved than nervous.

"You did _what_?" growled a very familiar voice, sparking chills up Stiles' spine.

He heard Erica let out an involuntary whimper like Derek was some sort of scary-ass monster that had her backed into a corner. Stiles furrowed his brow.

"Okay, what's going on," demanded Scott. "Derek, are you starting some sort of gang or something?" Then he leaned into Stiles and not-so-quietly whispered, "I told you he was a drug dealer."

"He's not a drug dealer," argued Stiles in annoyance before he blanched and turned back toward the car. "You're not a drug dealer, right, Derek?"

"No, Stiles," said Derek with a put-upon sigh, "I am not a drug dealer."

Stiles nodded and turned back to Scott. "See, not a drug dealer."

"So, do you want a ride?" asked Derek, gruffly, as if trying a little too hard to sound like he doesn't care one way or the other.

"Sure!" chirped Stiles at the same time that Scott said "No".

Scott made an offended sound in the back of his throat, but Stiles just smiled at him before feeling his way along the side of the car to find the back door's handle. He could hear Scott let out a grievous sigh as he climbed into the car, Isaac shifting to give him room, and then Scott was climbing in behind him.

"So, what_ is_ going on?" asked Scott as the car started forward. "Are you kidnapping school kids or something?"

"Yes," deadpanned Derek, "I'm kidnapping children by offering them candy if they get in the vehicle with me. I am going to hide you in my basement and write your parents ransom notes using cut out letters from magazines."

Scott grumbled. Stiles grinned.

The rest of the drive was quiet and a little awkward. Stiles was about to try to start some sort of stilted conversation with Isaac about the book they were reading in AP English seeing as that was the only thing he knew they had in common, but the car rolled to a stop and Scott was hurriedly unbuckling and pushing the door open.

"Thanks for the ride," said Stiles as he followed Scott out. "Talk to you guys...later."

Once the car had peeled off, Stiles followed Scott up the sidewalk, realizing belatedly that they had dropped them off at his house. Which actually made a lot of sense because neither he nor Scott gave Derek directions and he doubted Derek had ever been to Scott's.

When they got inside, Scott went straight to the refrigerator like it was his house, which it would be if the old adage, "possession is nine tenths of the law," was actually legally true considering the amount of time Scott spent there.

"Food, then homework, then Dungeons and Dragons?" asked Stiles.

"Totally," answered Scott as he moved around the kitchen.

* * *

**3.**

* * *

Vernon was a quiet guy. He seemed fairly level-headed from what Derek had seen of him. Perhaps something of a shady entrepreneur, but that was probably something they could use, too. Yeah, Derek thought he could like Vernon Boyd. The guy might have had his own issues, might have been lonely and lost, but he didn't reek of desperation like Erica and Isaac had.

Unfortunately, that also meant he was less motivated to take Derek up on his offer. If Derek had thought Isaac had been a hard sell, well, Vernon was another market altogether. He'd been suspicious right from the start, when Derek first approached him, trying to find an in. Derek tried to make small talk, had attempted to get a reason to meet again at a later date. Vernon just looked at him, mouth set in a straight line, and raised an eyebrow as if that was all he needed to do to show Derek just how much he was judging him right that moment.

He cursed his sister the whole drive home, wishing she had another option than him for approaching all these kids. He was the least suited to making friendly with a bunch of lost kids. The. _Least_. Suited.

Derek approached him again another day with Isaac and Erica in tow, hoping that having people Vernon recognized would lower his guard. When they tried a roundabout approach to getting him on their side, Vernon just crossed his arms over his chest and told them to just come out with it. As they explained what they were and what they were offering, his face remained neutral. He eventually asked for proof and barely even reacted when Derek wolfed out.

Once Derek was fully human again, Vernon let out a deep breath, uncrossed his arms and asked them to have Laura meet him on neutral ground. That had been the hardest part considering Laura was supposed to be dead and couldn't be allowed to be seen around Beacon Hills. They couldn't afford to let anyone recognize her, not with the rumour mill so strong in the small town and their pack so weak. When Derek relayed the request to her, she wanted to look at her back-up choices. Derek, though, had been so impressed with Vernon that he refused to let her pass him up.

So, she met with him at a truck stop just outside of the town in dark sunglasses and a baseball cap pulled down to keep her face in shadow with Derek waiting in the car out in the parking lot. Eventually, she convinced him, though she said afterward to Derek that the guy seemed like his mind was already made up the moment she met him.

When he arrived at their house the following night to receive the bite, Laura eyed him with such interest that it set Derek on edge. He couldn't help the growl that rumbled in his chest when she slunk up to Vernon and pulled his shirt to the side to bite sharply into the meat of his shoulder above his clavicle. The kid hadn't made a sound; the only thing giving away the amount of pain her teeth caused him were the tears the sprung to his eyes and the way his knees buckled under him for a second. He would definitely be a powerful werewolf.

Now, Derek had the three new wolves standing on his lawn in their first training session. It was Sunday afternoon and he needed to get them in control of their wolves before sending them off to school the next day. Vernon, specifically, needed the most help as he was newly turned. Derek could feel Laura watching them from where she was lounging on the front steps of their mobile home.

"You must be in control of your wolf at all times," spoke Derek. He ground his teeth when he saw the unsure looks cross the three turned wolves in front of him. "This is something you _can_ do. The bite didn't give you your wolf, it awoke it. Your wolf has always been a part of you; it is the feral, instinctual part of you that had been dormant until you were bitten. When something prods that side of you, your body will want to shift. You need to be able to control your shift, to control your wolf. Because you weren't born wolves, you won't be able to do a full shift, but your beta shift will still be enough to give you away, to bring out your feral powers."

"Full shift?" prompted Isaac timidly.

"Yes," said Derek, nodding, "a full shift is something only those who have a very close relationship with their wolf can handle."

"It's possible for bitten weres to fully shift," spoke up Laura, "but it will take a lot of control and practice. You have to have a very special level of comfort with your inner wolf, something that not all bitten weres are able to grasp within their lifetime."

"But it _is_ possible?" asked Erica, eyeing Derek like she thought he was trying to mislead them. He frowned at her.

"Yes," replied Laura from where she was still sitting on the step.

"Right now, though, you need to learn how to shift into your were form on command," cut in Derek. "The full moon is only a week away and it would be in everyone's best interest if you had a handle on your wolf before then. So, when I say shift...you shift. Ready?"

The three teens tensed, looking ready and determined, and a little nervous. Isaac looked a lot nervous, actually. The boy was so adorable in both personality and looks that Derek often felt compelled to scoop him up and cuddle him close like one would an infant or cute little puppy. Derek rolled his eyes at himself and cleared his throat.

"Shift."

Derek shifted with them, his centre of gravity dropping and his fangs and claws coming out. He looked up, his forehead feeling tight and brow pushed into a permanent glare, to find that the three teens hadn't changed. They just stared, stunned. Derek growled in annoyance before heightening his stance and fluidly shifting back into his fully human form.

"What does a full shift look like?" asked Erica, seemingly unconcerned about the level of which Derek was perturbed.

Derek let out a frustrated sigh before looking back over his shoulder at Laura. She grinned and winked. Derek groaned. Instead of saying anything, he dropped to his hands and knees, transforming into his wolf form as he went down. His jeans fell away during the shift, but he had to wrestle out of his tank top for a few milliseconds before he was free.

Isaac gasped, Vernon raised an eyebrow, and Erica began to coo like she thought he was the most adorable thing in the world. Derek growled baring his teeth at them and letting his hackles rise. He could hear Laura laughing and he swung around and snapped his teeth in her direction. He knew it was pointless to do so as she would know it was an empty threat, but he was feeling obstinate.

"I have to say," said Erica, straightening from where she had been reaching out to pet Derek before he had started snarling. "I'm a little disappointed. I was expecting some sort of big, ugly, creature of the night type of werewolf. You're kind of ridiculously adorable."

Derek growled.

"This is much more subtle, though," said Vernon, sounding annoyed with Erica. "He could move around without being given much thought, unlike a '_big, ugly creature of the night_.'"

"Except there aren't any wolves in California, genius," snapped Erica.

Vernon shrugged, seeming unbothered.

Derek shook his head at the teens and let out a derisive snort. He shifted back to his human self, then, and was quick to pull on his jeans while Erica made a point of leering. That girl had way too much of a personality shift from the bite. Derek gritted his teeth.

Derek had just finished dropping off Vernon at his house and was driving on his way home when he noticed Stiles stepping into a store. Without really thinking about it, Derek parked his car in one of the angled parking spots that were a mainstay of the main street of a one horse town. He pulled the key from the ignition, climbed out of his car and jogged across the street to enter the store before he had even looked at the sign across the front.

The bell dinged above his head when he stepped inside. He was met with the scent of old building that consisted of dusty, dry wood and distant scents of all the different things that once occupied the space over the past century. Derek looked around at the shelves and shelves of books and finally realized the store was a book shop.

Stiles was at the counter speaking with the elderly man behind the till. There was a moment where Derek thought he could simply busy himself looking at books while making sure he was positioned where he would be seen. He had to berate himself pretty heavily when he realized that wouldn't work. If he wanted to be found by Stiles, it would have to be on purpose. Damn.

"Yes, your books arrived from Kentucky this morning," said the elderly man. "If you just wait a few minutes, I'll get Kevin to bring them out for you."

"Thanks Mr. Burnbaum," replied Stiles, grinning in his mischievous boyish way that Derek definitely didn't think was adorable because it was bad enough he called Isaac adorable in his mind. "I'll just be over..." he trailed off, instead jerking his head to the side.

"It'll be a few minutes," said Mr. Burnbaum, nodding. "I'll call you when I have them."

Stiles turned and wandered over near where Derek was still standing looking like a complete tool near the door. There were a few old plush chairs to the side next to the large front window, so Derek quickly grabbed a book from the 'best sellers' stand next to the door and moved to sit in the closest one. A few moments later, Stiles came over, his white cane sweeping the floor in front of him, and sat down in the other chair.

"Hey," said Stiles with a friendly smile.

Derek couldn't help but smile back even though he knew the gesture was lost on the boy. So, Stiles had found him on his own after all.

"Hi, Stiles," rumbled Derek.

* * *

**4.**

* * *

Stiles ran his hand over the back of the old plush chair as he walked around it. He had apologies ready on his lips just in case it was occupied and he ended up brushing his hand along someone's shoulders, but it was empty. He smiled ever so slightly at that, happy his favorite spot at the bookstore was available. He gingerly took a seat to wait. He had to special order his books in Braille, but at least he could do it through the local book store instead of having to pay shipping on his own.

He was just getting settled in his seat when he heard the rustling of paper to his right. He cocked his head to the side and tried for a friendly smile, knowing from experience that the best way to figure out who was around him was simply to greet them.

"Hey," he said.

A pause.

"Hi, Stiles," sounded a familiar voice a few seconds later. It was one Derek Hale.

Stiles froze in surprise, before smiling more brightly and bodily turning in his seat to face the other chair. Derek had almost sounded guilty or embarrassed at getting found out. Perhaps he had been reading something strange or emasculating. Stiles quirked a smile as he imagined Derek paging through a picture book entitled "The Complete Book of Bunnies, Kittens, and Other Fluffy Cuties", or perhaps a book on training your dog in lieu of a self help book. Stiles snickered.

"Well, hello Derek," he said. "This might actually be the last place I would have expected to run into you."

"I feel I should be offended at that," replied Derek sounding gruff, but there was a tiny hint of good humor in there.

"You don't seem to be the literature type," said Stiles, shrugging.

"Maybe I'm reading a comic book," replied Derek almost coyly. Were they flirting? Was... was this what flirting was like? Stiles might need to place his head between his knees and breathe.

It was kind of hilarious that Derek's voice sounded more suited to hosting a show on how-to skin a deer than it did flirting in a bookstore like some sort of epically clichéd romcom, and yet... how was he so freaking charming? Stiles needed to re-evaluate what he found attractive in other people, obviously.

"Nope," said Stiles, shaking his head, "comic book pages sound different. That is definitely a novel of sorts."

"Is that so?" asked Derek, sounding impressed.

"Sure... well, there's also the fact that they don't sell comic books here. You've gotta head down the street to Black Cat Fantasy for the good stuff. I know, it sounds like some sort of goth lingerie store, but I swear it..." Stiles paused, and then let out a sigh. "Not that I've had reason to go there in a while."

He could hear Derek clear his throat awkwardly and instantly felt bad for taking their conversation to a bad place. He quickly flashed him a smile and pushed his own melancholy to the side.

"So what are you reading?" he asked.

"Uh..." stammered Derek sounding completely lost for a moment. Stiles could hear him snap the book shut and fumble with it for a beat. "Fifty Shades of Grey?" Derek said sounding unsure.

Stiles bit his lip in a truly heroic and mind-blowing display of self-control.

"Oh, really?" he asked, practically choking on the laughter trying to bubble out of his throat.

"Uh, yeah," said Derek. "It is... quite... interesting."

"I'll bet," said Stiles, nodding emphatically.

"Yep," answered Derek, oh, so awkwardly.

"I've heard quite a lot about it," said Stiles. "Does it live up to the hype?"

"Uh, well... I'm not really that far into it," answered Derek and Stiles bit his lip again, trying to keep a straight face.

"Has she signed the contract yet?" he asked.

"Yeah, yeah, she just did," replied Derek, as if trying to latch onto something because he was completely lost. Stiles snorted.

"Huh," answered Stiles.

"Mr. Stillinski?" called out Mr. Burnbaum before Stiles could say more. "Your books are ready."

"Awesome," called out Stiles, getting to his feet.

He grabbed his cane and stepped between the two chairs on his way to the till. He paused beside Derek and leaned over. "I totally didn't peg you for a bondage romance-novel enthusiast, but I can kinda see it. I mean, you seem like the type to wear a lot of leather, so it could easily bleed over in your... bedroom activities, right? Hah, I bet you are all into the leashes and muzzles and chains and stuff. Arooo."

He could hear the sharp intake of air in response to his words and couldn't help but laugh. He reached out and patted Derek's bicep, having meant to pat his shoulder, but it worked. He continued to chuckle to himself as he walked away from Derek, cane doing his seeing for him.

Stiles was still chuckling to himself over Derek when he stepped into his house a little later, his new books in a bag hanging from his arm and his backpack slung over the other shoulder.

"Stiles?" called out his father's voice from further in the house.

"I'm home," replied Stiles, shutting the door behind him and standing his cane against the wall. He paused to inhale the scent of supper permeating the air and gave an appreciative groan before walking into the kitchen. "UGH, that smells so good and I am a starving man. Absolutely starving, Dad, wasting away to nothing. My stomach is attempting to eat itself at this very moment."

"Then you won't have a problem setting the table for me," said John Stillinski from where he was standing in front of the stove.

"If it meant food would fill my belly sooner, I would kiss Aunty Marie on her fuzzy lips!" exclaimed Stiles before pulling open the door of the closest cabinet where he knew the dishes were kept.

He grinned when his dad made a choked sound of poorly contained laughter.

"Be nice to Aunty Marie," his dad attempted to scold. Stiles only grinned wider.

"What's on the menu, Pops?" he asked. "Should I get out bowls or plates?"

"Pork chops," replied his dad, and Stiles nodded to himself since he had already guessed as much from the smell.

"Plates, then," said Stiles to himself as he pulled out two plates and two glass tumblers.

They worked in silence, Stiles setting the table and his father finishing up his preparations in the kitchen. The only sounds were random clinks of kitchen items and the background sizzling of the meat on the stove. Soon, John brought the food out to the table and the two sat down to eat.

"Did your books come in?" asked John between bites.

"Yeah, I picked them up on the way home," answered Stiles while sawing through his pork chop with knife and fork. He took a bite and groaned somewhat obscenely. "This is so good! What's your secret, Rachael Ray?"

Hi dad snorted in amusement.

"Paprika and... the undiscerning palate of a hungry teenaged boy," answered his father.

Stiles scrunched his nose and wiggled his eyebrows across the table at his dad before taking another slightly-too-big bite of his pork chop.

"Don't forget to eat your vegetables," warned his dad.

"You mean the ones I made _you_ buy?" asked Stiles, between bites.

"Yeah," sighed John in exaggerated annoyance,"those."

They ate in silence for a while.

"How did everything go at the bookstore?" asked his dad a bit later.

Stiles managed to stop himself from cringing. It had sounded innocent enough, but he hated the implication that his dad didn't think he could run a simple errand on his own.

"Just fine," he said, maybe a little snappish.

He grimaced when he heard his father sigh and set down his cutlery.

"Stiles," he said, drawing out the word as if exhaling it from his body. Stiles ground his teeth, refusing to let his vulnerabilities show. "I didn't mean..." started his father before just letting it trail off.

"Yeah, sure, don't worry about it," said Stiles, resolutely keeping his voice from wavering. He felt so stupid about getting worked up over something so small. He forced himself to smile, though he knew it didn't look near convincing, and pushed through his weepy moment.

"I'm sorry, Stiles," said John after a few moments of heavy silence. "I don't mean to make you feel inept, I just... some people have no problem taking advantage..."

"Dad," cut in Stiles, shaking his head, "Really, everything went fine. I made sure to double and triple check the titles of the books, I flipped through the books, and he charged me exactly the price we talked about the week before. It was fine."

"I'm sorry, I just worry, you know?" said his dad. "I wish I was home more so I could be better help to you and..."

"Dad," sighed Stiles, softening a little at the genuine regret in his father's tone. "It's Beacon Hills; no one's stupid enough to try to pull something over on the Sheriff's son in such a small town."

"What about when you move away to college?"

"I'd have just as much chance of being beaten and mugged if I could see," said Stiles, with a shrug; he wasn't completely certain of his own words though he wanted to be.

"Don't joke about that," hissed his father before softening to say. "I would be just as nervous about seeing you go if you could see, too, you know. It is the parents' job to worry about their kid."

"I know, Dad, I know," replied Stiles, finally able to smile genuinely for him.

"I love you, Kid," said his dad, reaching out to squeeze Stiles' free hand.

"I love you, too, Dad," replied Stiles, feeling much lighter.

They went back to eating quietly for a bit and Stiles' mind flit back to his stop at the bookstore. He grinned when he thought of Derek having pretended to read a book he knew nothing about. Stiles froze for a second, then. Why had Derek been pretending to read a book anyway? Maybe there was something strangely shady about him and Scott wasn't just being an overbearing mother hen.

"Dad?" asked Stiles, hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"What do you know about Derek Hale?"

"Uh... well," said his father, as if trying to think of the best way to word something. "He lost most of his family in a house fire a few years back."

Stiles nodded.

"Then he kind of just disappeared for a number of years," continued his father. "Can't say I blame him for not wanting to stick around after that. I'm more surprised that he actually came back, really."

"Okay, but is... is he a good person?" asked Stiles.

It was quiet for a few beats and Stiles knew his question had given his father pause. He could practically feel the calculating look his dad was giving him.

"Well," said his dad, "I don't really know what kind of person he is any more. He was a good kid when his family was still around. His family was quiet, kept to themselves mostly. They were nice, though, very nice. Your mom had babysat Laura and Derek a few times when they were really young. She always said they were the most well-behaved children she had ever met."

Stiles nodded. He wasn't really sure what he had expected to get from his dad, but he knew he shouldn't be surprised or disappointed that his dad hadn't been able to tell him straight out.

"Of course, something like what happened to Derek's family would definitely change a person," continued his dad, thoughtfully.

"Yeah," exhaled Stiles, thinking about his own traumatic history.

"Why do you ask?" questioned his dad.

"Oh, well, I just... I've been running into him around town and he seems nice enough, but Scott is really suspicious about him for some reason. Seriously, Dad, he goes full-out guard dog mode when Derek's nearby," said Stiles, throwing up a hand in show of his exasperation.

His dad chuckled.

"Well, Scott's always been protective of you," he answered, simply.


End file.
